Will Someone Tell Him He's Enough?
by angelofthequeers
Summary: In which a suicidal Castiel struggles with the aftermath of Lucifer and, well...everything, while Dean tries to convince him that he IS enough. Based on 'Better Off Dead' by Sleeping With Sirens. I didn't categorise this as romance because that's not the important thing here, but it IS slash. Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and self-harm.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.**

 **I don't know what I expected, really. I hear Destiel in pretty much every song and when I heard 'Fly' by Sleeping With Sirens…it started off that way but then took a sharp turn to 'Better Off Dead', so that's what I'm going with. I'll do 'Fly' soon.**

 **I also tried to portray Mary as more than the 'glowing saint' that we've heard Dean and John describe her as, more than the 'perfect housewife' that she seemed to be after escaping hunting and as more than 'just another hunter'; because at the end of the day, she's human and she's made her mistakes like the rest of them. Heck, it was her selfish mistake with Azazel that set off the whole show. It's a little difficult to find a balance with what little we know of her but I tried.**

 **(Help me I'm hooked on SWS now I don't need another bandom)**

Despite the fact that his attention is engaged with the heavens above, Castiel is immediately aware of the moment that Dean sits down on the grassy hill next to him. How can he not notice? He's an angel; he's witnessed all of the events and locations that humans would be quick to class as 'most beautiful' and would, as Dean so eloquently puts it, 'kill' to see. But every beautiful thing that Castiel has ever experienced in his millennia of existence pales in comparison to the soul of the human beside him.

It physically pains Castiel, having to endure Dean's crippling lack of self-confidence and his vehement beliefs that he is not as important as everybody else and that he's worthless and broken. The angel's sure that if Dean could only get a mere glimpse of his own soul for even a second, the human would never doubt himself again. And this is what pains Castiel so much. Even dead, Dean will never be able to see his soul as the angel does. He'll never see just what Castiel sees; and he'll never be able to understand just how deep Castiel's love for him is. Castiel isn't sure that he's ever loved one being as much as he loves Dean – as blasphemous as that statement is, it's the truest thing he's ever thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dean finally says. Castiel blinks, his trance broken.

"I don't have a penny. Though I'm sure I can procure one if –"

"I don't actually want a penny, Cas." The fond smile on Dean's face makes warmth bubble in Castiel's midriff. He's still not sure exactly why he has this reaction whenever he's around Dean – or whenever he so much as thinks of the hunter – but it's been happening for years, so he's largely used to it. In fact, he suspects that it's because of his feelings towards Dean that this reaction occurs. And it's not as though it's unpleasant, so he elects to simply revel in it rather than worry unnecessarily. There's enough happening in his life without creating more problems.

"Oh. It's a human saying."

"Yeah." They lapse into a moment of silence. "Just wondering what's goin' through that head of yours. You're staring at me again."

"Oh. My apologies, Dean."

"Don't sweat it. I'm used to it now. 'S actually kinda cute."

Dean's face reddens and he quickly looks away, as though unable to believe that something so 'girly' (as he would say) has crossed his lips. Castiel, however, finds that a small smile is crossing across his face without his permission and he looks away as the heat in his abdomen seems to spread through his whole body. He doesn't even hesitate in thinking of this vessel as his now; after all, Jimmy Novak has been gone for years.

"Thank you," is all he says. He may not have a good grasp on human social cues – Metatron had only downloaded pop culture into his head, after all – but he knows his Dean well enough to know that the hunter loathes overly emotional speeches and displays of affection.

"So…whatcha doing out here?"

Castiel points up at the dark sky overhead, the thousands of balls of light dotting it appearing, to Castiel's celestial eyes, as the flaming balls of gas they are, but as only pinpricks to Dean.

"When Metatron took my grace, I was overwhelmed. I didn't know what to do with myself. Humans…their senses are so pathetically dull compared to angels, and yet everything that they feel and experience is so much more intense. It's an interesting paradox, you know."

Dean appears to be clinging to his every word. Castiel risks reaching out and taking Dean's hand in his and though Dean jumps in surprise, he doesn't pull away. Castiel takes a moment to soak in the heat that seems to be emanating from his point of contact with Dean's skin before continuing his tale.

"The first time I looked up and saw the stars…Dean, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. As an angel, I only see stars for what they are: giant balls of gas in the vacuum of space. But I looked up and I finally saw them as humans see them: small dots of light, so close yet so far. I – I finally understood why humans regard the night sky as a sight of hope, peace, wonder."

"Yeah," Dean agrees quietly. "Sammy always loved lookin' at the stars when he was a kid. I never got it but it made him happy, so I went along with it. We'd try and find constellations. Little bitch was always so damn proud when he found 'em…"

He squeezes Castiel's hand, though this gesture feels largely unconscious to the angel.

"It also made me feel…small," Castiel admits quietly. "A rather uncommon feeling for an angel, as you can imagine. But that is one moment in which I felt so close to humanity. Even in my efforts to defend your kind before the fall, I was still an outside; an alien, essentially. Having my grace stripped from me forced me onto your level. And you humans never cease to amaze me, Dean."

Castiel shakes his head.

"It also made me feel infinite. I was so small. I was hardly worth anything compared to every other human. But in the eyes of the universe, this entire planet is but a speck of dust. I may have been human, and felt like one, but…in that moment, I knew I was still an angel. I was still a wavelength of celestial energy, even if I had been trapped inside my body and forced to survive."

"I get that," Dean says. "I s'pose that's why people loves stars so much. You look up at 'em and you feel tiny but you also feel…I dunno, like there's so much more out there for you if you keep goin'. If you get me."

"I get you." Castiel sighs and looks up at the night sky again, wishing that he could once again see it as humans do. "I wish I could go back, Dean. Before I discovered the wonders of Earth and humanity, I would…I would fly among the stars, free and unencumbered by a vessel. My true form would stretch between the stars and I would admire my Father's creations and…it filled me with peace. With joy. Emotions that are not common for angels. But then again, I was always the defective model."

"Hey," Dean snaps. "You're not defective, Cas. You're freaking awesome."

"Defective: imperfect or faulty," Castiel rattles off, these linguistics coming to him almost unconsciously. "Flawed. Not functioning. Broken. Cracked. Deformed. It all means the same thing, Dean. And all of it applies to me. I don't expect to be perfect. Father is the only being capable of achieving perfection. And I don't mind so much being flawed. We all are. But I'm everything else. I'm broken. I'm deformed. I have a crack in my chassis."

He draws his knees to his chest and hides his face, trying desperately to stem the tears that are pricking his eyes and threatening to escape. He still keeps hold of Dean's hand.

"Dean, you don't know how hated I am," he continues, his voice muffled by his legs. The material of his pants smells crisp and fresh, feels properly cared for; such a stark contrast to him. "If I return to Heaven, I would be killed on the spot. The other angels regard me with contempt; even with revulsion. And rightly so, after everything I've done. They would be well within their rights to kill me, the broken angel. Dean, if I'm forced to face what I've done…all of the devastation I've wreaked, the sins I've committed, especially in allowing Lucifer to possess me…"

Castiel takes a deep breath and repeats the words he said many years ago to Dean, in what feels like another lifetime, where nobody had ever heard him and his cries for help.

"I'm afraid I might kill myself."

There's dead silence. Castiel wishes that Sam would burst in and interrupt them like he did last time the angel confessed this, or even Mary; then, at least, he would not have to feel Dean's intense scrutiny and almost certain sympathy.

"Don't."

This one word is whispered, yet Dean might have yelled it. Castiel finally raises his head to look at Dean.

"Why not?" he says, his eyes stinging. "You don't understand, Dean. You and Sam have always righted your wrongs. You started the Apocalypse, so you ended it. You ended the Leviathan problem, when it was my arrogance and hubris that saw them released in the first place. You inadvertently aided Abaddon in her rise to power, so you saw to it that she was ended; then Sam took care of the Mark of Cain, and you neutralised Amara after allowing her to escape."

Castiel can't stand the shame that spreads through him when his tears finally do fall. As a human, he might not have thought twice about it; but as an angel, he should have better control over his emotions and his body and he can't stand the fact that this is not something he can help. Perhaps Lucifer forcefully dissociating him from his body has caused more damage than he'd thought.

"You and Sam have fixed everything, Dean," he sobs. His stomach drops when the hunter releases his hand, only to then burst into 'butterflies' (an odd but apt description of this sensation) when his Dean's arms wrap around him tightly and hold the angel snugly to him.

"Shh," Dean soothes. Castiel buries his face in Dean's shirt, making a mental promise to apologise to Dean for dampening the fabric with his shameful tears. "You're okay, Cas. Just let it out."

"You t-two h-have always repaired the d-damage you h-have done!" Castiel cries. "But I – I always m-make things _worse_!"

"You took Metatron down," Dean points out. "You got him to broadcast his plans to all the other angels. Pretty damn genius, Cas."

Castiel lets out a hysterical shriek of laughter.

" _Genius_? I sat there as he informed me of – of your death! The angels are the ones who took him into custody, while I sat bound to a chair – and then I broke him out, only for him to betray me as I should have expected! How can you possibly justify my actions, Dean?"

Castiel isn't even crying now so much as howling. The only thing that stops him from totally losing his mind is the fact that Dean is stroking his hair, grounding him just enough to stop a total meltdown.

"I'm _nothing_ , Dean! _Useless_! _Expendable_! I break everything I touch! I said yes to Lucifer so that I might finally be useful and all I did was cause you unimaginable pain and guilt, along with the deaths of several angels! The only reason I was not killed on sight was because Lucifer was inside me! And it's even a miracle that they listened to me when Lucifer allowed me to speak to them!"

Castiel's sobs are now dying down to choked hiccups. He's grateful for the fact that Dean doesn't stop stroking his hair or offering him this physical comfort – not that he deserves it, after all he's done. He knows he's better off dead – why will nobody hear him?

"Why couldn't I just stay dead?" he whispers. "I'm far better off that way. Why must I continue to burden everybody around me? I'm so unworthy that even my own _Father_ would not talk to me. Why is Lucifer worthy of forgiveness but not me? Am I truly that much of an abomination? Am I a defect even in my Father's eyes?"

"Will you shut up?" Dean says angrily. Castiel flinches, afraid that he's pushed his human too far – though Dean's right to be mad at him. "You fucked up, okay? So did we! And you're _not_ broken, or expendable, or any of that shit! Sam and I – we just didn't freaking tell you how important you are enough."

Castiel snorts.

"I appreciate your effort in comforting me, Dean."

Dean lets out a frustrated growl.

"For the love of – Cas, you're so fucking important to me! I wasn't even mad that you said yes to Lucifer – okay, maybe at first. But I – all I wanted was to get you back. I wanted to wrap you in a blanket again and binge on Netflix with you and just – I'm so fucking bad at this."

Castiel gives a watery laugh.

"I'm glad you've got your mother back," he murmurs. "You deserve it. You deserve to be rewarded for your efforts."

"And so do you!" Dean insists but Castiel ignores him.

"At least you've got a home now," the angel continues, his voice so quiet that he knows Dean must be struggling to pick it up. "The bunker…Sam…Mary. I'm glad that your home at least accepts you. Mine would put me to death and I would let them. In fact, I would save them the effort. I'm better off dead. Perhaps it would finally be enough to silence the never ending voices of all the people I've wronged…all of the friends and family I have betrayed. You…Sam…Balthazar…Rachel…Anna…Hannah…and that is only several out of hundreds. No, of thousands."

"No." Castiel is surprised at how Dean's voice cracks. "Cas, you can't – you can't say that. You – I – no!"

Castiel is suddenly dragged into Dean's lap, forcing a surprised huff out of him. This new position allows Dean to hug him even tighter and, though he's certain that this is more than he deserves, Castiel melts into the embrace.

"You can't fucking kill yourself," Dean orders into Castiel's hair. "Please. Don't do that to me, Cas. Don't do that to _yourself_."

"Dean –"

"You _do_ have a home. A proper one, y'know – not with those winged dicks. They don't appreciate you, Cas. They don't _deserve_ you. You've been through so much shit and they don't give a fuck because of the massive angel blades up their asses."

"They haven't broken the world, Dean!"

"And? You're the one who took down Raphael! Okay, so the way you did it was totally shit and we tried to warn you but – _you're_ the one who made those sacrifices! And I should've at least extended you that same trust. I mean, you were wrong but…you deserved better than having me yell at you, when honestly I've fucked up way more because I didn't listen to people."

Castiel snorts darkly.

"Fuck, I'm crap at this comforting stuff. Look, Cas…I can tell you that you're not a fuck up till I'm blue in the face and you won't listen. But _we're_ your home. _We're_ your family. Me, Sammy, Mom…you're always gonna have a home with us."

"Dean, haven't you heard a word I said? This isn't where I belong!"

Dean closes his eyes, counting to ten under his breath.

"Look, if you're not gonna live for yourself then…live for us?"

"Whatever you want, Dean," Castiel mumbles, too drained to argue properly. A shock of surprise jolts his stomach when Dean abruptly stands, the angel still in his arms, and Castiel has to quickly wrap his arms around Dean's neck in a death grip to stop himself from falling. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you inside. You're staying with me tonight, Cas."

"Because you don't trust me not to kill myself?" Castiel says mockingly as Dean carries him back to the entrance of the bunker and opens the door after a moment of struggling around the angel in his arms.

"Don't," Dean says quietly. Castiel immediately feels awful for being so cruel to his Dean when the hunter is only trying to help. "No, because I wanna stay with you tonight. I reckon some company will do you good."

"You have been keeping me company, Dean. We rescued your brother from Antonia Bevell together."

"Yeah and I've hardly seen you since. You're staying with me even if I have to cuff you to me."

Castiel mumbles some choice Enochian curses under his breath but otherwise falls silent. Thankfully, Sam appears to already be in his bedroom, though they do encounter Mary cleaning and sharpening machetes from their last vampire hunt. Castiel reluctantly finds himself impressed by somebody who can go from loving mother and housekeeper to a deadly warrior in mere seconds, though he supposes he shouldn't be surprised after having known Dean for so long. Dean and his mother do share many qualities, after all.

"You off to bed, sweetie?" Mary says softly, almost as if she's keeping her voice down so as not to wake Castiel, though the angel knows she can see that he's not asleep. Dean nods in response.

"Sorry to dump all the work on you, Mom," he says, nodding again at the pile of weapons. The word 'mom' comes out as an almost foreign word, though Castiel can't blame Dean for this.

"Don't be silly," Mary says, waving a dismissive hand. "Your friend needed you. And besides, it's about time I got back into the swing of things. My skills are a bit rusty."

'Ten years of being a housewife and thirty three of being dead does that to you' goes unspoken, though is heard loud and clear by the two men.

"Right. Night…Mom."

"Goodnight, sweetheart." Mary stands up to carefully hug and kiss Dean (and Castiel can feel Dean stiffen automatically before relaxing into his mother's touch) and then, to Castiel's surprise, she does the same to him. He's grateful that she doesn't say anything about it but sits back down to complete her task, allowing Dean to carry him all the way to the bedroom.

"I got a TV here, so we can watch movies," Dean says once he's deposited Castiel on his bed. "Don't ditch ass if I fall asleep, okay?"

Castiel mutters a halfhearted agreement before he finds himself being forced under the covers by Dean, who then climbs in next to him without even undressing. The hunter snatches the TV remote from his bedside table and within minutes, the _Star Wars_ movie (Castiel hadn't paid enough attention to see which one) is playing.

As predicted, Dean drifts off near the end of this movie. Castiel hadn't even been in the mood for movies, so he chooses to turn the TV off rather than put another movie on and he stares up at the dark ceiling, his mind racing. Dean had told him that he was family. Had the hunter been lying? Telling Castiel this simply to stop him from killing himself? Or had Dean sincerely meant it?

Castiel is about to slide out of Dean's bed, despite the man's orders otherwise, when Dean lets out a snuffle and rolls over. Castiel immediately finds himself trapped, as Dean's limbs fling themselves over him and unconsciously keep him pinned to the bed. He stiffens for a moment, afraid that Dean will wake up and stammer out excuses to cover up his own discomfort at hugging another man in his sleep, but Dean simply lets out what sounds like a content sigh and continues to slumber on. Castiel forces himself to relax into the bed, glowering at the ceiling. It seems that he's stuck here for the night.

* * *

Castiel times his escape the next morning carefully; after Dean has awoken to see that the angel has kept his word and remained in bed for the whole night, but before the hunter returns from his morning bathroom visit. While he would love nothing more than to continue lying next to Dean, he knows that Dean is firmly attracted to women and there is no point in allowing himself to get his hopes up and torture himself by remaining in Dean's company when he knows that Dean does not feel that attraction to him. And besides, he simply doesn't deserve to be in the presence of someone with such a pure soul – not after all of the horrific deeds he has committed.

He finds himself back on that hill, lying in the damp grass and watching the brilliant sunrise that paints the sky with hues of reds and oranges and pinks. It's almost as if the sky is a canvas and his Father is the artist, painting a masterpiece on this blank slate. A masterpiece, he darkly thinks, he has no business in being in. He breaks everything he touches; why would anybody include him in a brilliant work of art?

He knows that Dean will eventually find him, so he's not surprised when he hears footsteps as the last of the pink fades from the sky and is replaced by bright blue.

"Thought you might be here," Dean says. "Just knew that you might want some space for a bit."

He doesn't wait for Castiel to invite him to sit down. Castiel regrets lying down, because now he can't look away from Dean when the man is right above him. At the same time, though, he doesn't know why he would ever want to look away from the beautiful, exquisite soul next to him; far more brilliant than any sunrise his Father might have created.

Perhaps that is the reason he's broken. Perhaps the fact that he loves this one soul, this one being, more than anything else – even his own Father – is the reason he's defective. Deep down, he knows that Hester's words, spoken so many years ago, are true: that he was lost the minute he laid a hand on Dean in Hell.

"Look…" Dean sighs. "I get it, okay? You think I don't but I really do. All I ever do is break shit. And I mean…I haven't been possessed, so it's not like I can go all 'I know what you're going through' about that Lucifer crap, but…Sam has. Sam knows. And I've had to haul Sam's ass through that, so I'm damn well gonna do the same with you."

"Your assistance is appreciated," Castiel says, far more sarcastically than intended. Dean makes an exasperated sound.

"I'm trying to help you! Why are you being such an ass?"

"I told you, Dean. I don't deserve it. I'm better off dead, where I can't hurt anybody or break anything! I see now why Father keeps bringing me back. This is my punishment: my inability to remain at peace and stop destroying the world."

Dean actually lets out a long, loud groan and covers his face.

"You," he hisses, "are the most infuriating fucking person I've ever had to deal with!"

"But I'm not a person. I suppose I can't even be classed as an angel."

The sound that escapes Dean is akin to that of a wounded animal.

"Will you just _stop_?" he snaps. "Seriously! None of us blame you! The only people who do blame you don't even deserve the time of day!"

Castiel opens his mouth to protest. Dean actually growls at this and, before Castiel can speak, Dean has rolled over to straddle him and is pressing their lips together forcefully. Time seems to freeze for Castiel. His awareness, spread over all his surroundings, now narrows down to just the man on top of him and the mouth that is attacking his and after a moment to get over his stunned surprise, he tentatively raises his hands to cup Dean's face and kiss back. Is this happening? Is he really kissing _Dean Winchester_? Never, in his wildest dreams, had he ever thought that this would happen; that Dean would ever find _him_ desirable.

"Finally shut you up," Dean says triumphantly when he pulls back. Castiel just blinks at him in shock. "Now fucking stay quiet and listen to me. You capiche?"

"I – I capiche."

"Good." Dean lowers himself so that he is pressed flush to Castiel's body, pinning him to the ground. They both know that Castiel could easily throw him off; that it's only the angel's profound trust that allows Dean to do this. "Here's the thing, Cas. Yeah, you fucked up. But you did your damn hardest to fix it. You came with me to take down Dick Roman, even after I ditched you in a psych ward with a demon bitch for company. Even after I treated you like shit for doing what you thought was right to kill Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel."

"What I thought was right turned out to be very wrong."

Dean laughs darkly at this.

"Story of my fucking life, Cas. Nobody's perfect, okay? Those dicks with wings might think that they're perfection incarnate but they're _not_. You're the best out of the lot."

"I don't deserve to even be classed as an angel, Dean!"

"Y'know what? You're right."

Castiel can't deny that this is like a punch to the chest. He opens his mouth but Dean beats him to the punch.

"You don't deserve to be classed as an angel with that lot 'cause you're way better. First sign of trouble, they go running back to Heaven. But not you, Cas. You try and fix whatever shit's going down. They all hid behind the pearly gates while you helped us gank Dick Roman and the Leviathans; heck, all they did was try and snatch Kevin."

A ripple of pain passes over Dean's face at this, though Castiel is glad to see that Dean has largely managed to move past Kevin's death after the boy's spirit had appeared with God to reassure him. While Castiel hadn't seen this, Dean had been quick to tell him when filling him in with any details he may have missed while possessed.

"And you stayed behind in Purgatory just 'cause you felt like you needed to pay. Cas, do you really think any other angel would've done that? Those selfish pricks would've jumped at the chance to get out – heck, they'd've left me behind if they'd had to."

"If I recall correctly, you were less than thrilled with my decision."

Dean snorts and leans down to kiss Castiel again. Those green eyes, hovering so closely above him, are doing strange things to Castiel; they're crumbling any resistance he might have, leaving him utterly powerless to Dean and his rough charms and firm words. Is this love? Is this what love does?

"Damn right I was. Still am. But I get it, Cas. You were beating yourself up. God knows how many times I've done that to myself. But see, that makes you better than those other winged douches. You saw you were wrong and you tried to punish yourself. Granted, it all went sideways, but doesn't everything in our lives?"

Castiel just shrugs.

"Then with that Naomi bitch and the angel tablet. Yeah, it freaking hurt that you didn't trust me enough to help with the tablet, but it was fucking with your mind. And I know that's no excuse – that you could've resisted if you really wanted to – but that bitch had been controlling you and _torturing_ you. I _get_ it, Cas."

Castiel is starting to see a pattern in Dean's words.

"So you disapprove of my actions," he says slowly, "but you understand my warped reasoning?"

This earns him a wide smile and another kiss.

"Now you're gettin' it," Dean says proudly. Castiel hums when Dean begins to brush the hair back from his forehead, wondering just what he's done to deserve this amazing man's love and forgiveness. "You see, Cas? All that shit you did isn't okay but you did it because you thought you were doing the right thing. Opening Purgatory, killing all those angels, staying behind, letting the tablet fuck with you, trusting Metatron with the Heaven trials and then breaking him out, helping Sam free Amara, saying yes to Lucifer…dammit, Cas! Yeah, you've done bad shit, but don't you get it? You did it for the right reasons! Doesn't make it right, but it makes you way better than those assholes. Everything they do is for themselves and screw the rest of us."

Castiel's glad that it's Dean who's talking to him. Dean has had plenty of experience with self-loathing to know not to try and absolve Castiel of any blame, but rather to accept that his decisions were abhorrent and focus on his reasoning behind them. To Castiel's surprise, it does make dealing with the horrific decisions he's made slightly easier because he's not simply brushing off his responsibility in making them.

"You're not expendable," Dean says firmly, still stroking Castiel's hair. "You're not useless. You're Castiel, badass angel of the Lord. You're _family_. And we need you. _I_ need you."

Castiel remembers the last time these words were said to him, though this is a much more pleasant scenario than the crypt.

"But why?" he can't help but ask. "Why do you need _me_?"

Dean's response is to kiss him again, though this time he doesn't pull back after a few moments. Instead, he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across the seam of Castiel's lips as though seeking access. Though thinking this a strange request, Castiel obliges and Dean's tongue slips into his mouth, causing a shiver to run down his whole body as their tongues twist and battle for dominance.

This is quite possibly the best moment in Castiel's existence; the one he would replay over and over again if he had his own Heaven. Dean is just everywhere; his tongue in Castiel's mouth, his body firmly settled on Castiel's, one hand running through Castiel's hair and the other cupping his cheek, his soul shining so brightly that Castiel is almost blinded by it. While he's felt Dean's soul resonate happily before, he's never felt it radiate such joy and peace, and especially not because of _him_.

"Mmm," Dean hums when he pulls back to take a gulp of air. "Could do this all day, Cas."

Castiel is thrilled when Dean returns to kissing him. Needing to feel more of the man on top of him, he rests his hands on Dean's waist and then, reluctant to travel further down and start something that he isn't quite ready to finish, settles for slipping them underneath Dean's shirt and stroking up his hunter's back. Dean groans happily at that, so Castiel allows his hands to roam all over Dean's back, as though he is starved for touch – which, he supposes, he is when it comes to Dean. They've touched each other in friendship and in enmity, but never as lovers. If Castiel has his way, every touch towards each other from now on will be the latter.

"That's why," Dean says breathlessly when they separate again. Castiel can't help feeling annoyed at human limitations; if Dean didn't need to breathe then they could still be kissing, though he supposes he shouldn't complain. He knows that nobody else will get to have his Dean after this and the thought fills him with uncharacteristic smugness, which he can't bring himself to care about. "That's why I need you."

"But I'm in a male body," Castiel says. Though he's irritated with himself for raising this issue, he knows that he has to; he needs to be sure that Dean truly wants to be his lover, and isn't simply trying to comfort him.

"So?" Dean says uncaringly. "Yeah, that mighta got to me when I first started feelin' this way, but I really don't give a fuck now. You're Cas. I know I'm not gay, 'cause the thought of being with any other guy makes me feel weird. And I still like boobs and curves and butts and girl bodies. I just _really_ like _you_. I'm past the point of caring which body you're in."

"Even if I was still in the body of a twelve year old Claire?" Castiel can't help but tease with a small smile. Dean pretends to glare at him.

"Dude, that's pushing it. I could get away with kissing a guy but not a little girl."

As if to prove his point, he presses his lips to the angel's again. Castiel is growing to love the warm rush that shoots through him whenever his Dean kisses him and he's mildly surprised at how quickly he's becoming addicted to the man's kisses. However, he supposes he really shouldn't be. They've always shared a profound bond and even if they had never become lovers, Castiel knows that they will always share a unique relationship with each other.

"You starting to get it?" Dean says. "Or did I just waste my breath?"

"I think I require further persuasion," Castiel says slyly. Pride blossoms inside him when Dean ducks his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"You little shit," Dean grins, though he still gives Castiel a kiss. "But seriously, Cas. Am I getting through to you?"

His hands still up Dean's shirt, Castiel starts to stroke the man's back again.

"Yes, Dean. I don't think that I fully believe you just yet but…I cannot thank you enough for choosing to help me when you didn't have to involve yourself in my troubles."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, 'cause I was really gonna leave your suicidal ass alone." His demeanour immediately shifts to deadly serious. "Cas…you'll tell me if you feel like that again, right? You won't…try and off yourself or anything? 'Cause I was serious when I said I don't know what I'd do if you killed yourself."

Castiel's eyes sting for the second time in such a short period. This assertion that Dean cares this much for him is almost overwhelming; in fact, he can't remember the last time he's ever felt so loved. In that moment, he knows that he honestly wants to live – and not just so that he doesn't hurt Dean, but so that he can prove himself worthy of living. He's made his mistakes and Dean has forgiven him. Now it's time to atone for them and he can't do that if he's dead; nor can he truly begin to enjoy his life. Now he can, and not as somebody's pawn but for himself.

"I won't, Dean," he swears. "I promise."

"And you'll come to me if you ever get that urge? Seriously, Cas. Even if you're still holding your blade and I'm just there watching you."

Castiel nods and is rewarded with another kiss. He's beginning to see the merits of Pavlov's conditioning theory because if his Dean's kisses are his reward for good behaviour, he may never sin again.

"Good." Dean rests his chin on Castiel's chest, watching the angel with sparkling green eyes and a wide smile. "'M sorry, Cas. I shoulda listened to you the first time you said you'd kill yourself. If Sam said that…I'd've tied him down and not let him go for the next fifty years."

"Then why did you not think anything of me saying it?"

"Because you're an angel? I know, shitty excuse, but…Cas, you've always been so freaking strong. Even when you were batshit crazy. So I thought…maybe you were just being dramatic. Or even if you weren't, I didn't think you were human enough to actually do it. I'm an idiot."

"Idiot may be too strong a word," Castiel says, removing one hand from underneath the hunter's shirt in order to stroke his Dean's short, spiky hair. He revels in this simple touch, satisfied with the knowledge that only he (and Mary, and maybe Sam, if Dean is in an accommodating mood) can get away with this. "Perhaps assbutt would work better."

Dean narrows his eyes, though not with any malice.

"You're beautiful," he says suddenly. Castiel blinks, taken aback by this sudden change in subject. "I know that's a chick word but if I don't give a fuck about making out with a guy angel, I can't give a fuck about calling him beautiful."

Castiel's mouth is open as he blinks rapidly, trying to quell the tears threatening to make another appearance.

"Son of a bitch," Dean says quietly. "No one's ever told you that you're beautiful?"

Castiel mutely shakes his head.

"Handsome? Awesome? Smart? Brave? Nothing?"

"Nobody has ever had occasion to," the angel mumbles. "Several humans have complimented me on my looks but their words are meaningless. They do not know my true self; all they see is Jimmy Novak's face."

Dean's face falls.

"You _are_ beautiful," he insists. "Not just 'cause of your body. Just…all of you. I dunno why all the other angels think you're a broken freak, or why no one else snapped you up before, but I ain't complaining. Just means I get to have you. 'Cause you're more than enough for me."

Castiel doesn't think he'll ever be able to describe the emotions that are wreaking havoc inside him at the moment. All he knows is that he can't remember the last time that somebody called him anything close to beautiful, or said that he was enough just as he is. He doesn't feel beautiful or worthy of Dean's praises but he's certain now that Dean wouldn't just shower him with idle words – not unless they were words he truly means.

Thankfully, he's saved from having to reply to Dean (and possibly breaking down) by the sound of footsteps. Both of them look up but Dean makes no move to slide off Castiel when Sam and Mary appear at the crest of the hill, a fact that makes heat pool in Castiel's stomach.

"You two've been out here for hours," Sam says. Castiel is grateful that Sam doesn't comment on their position or appearances and he knows that this is Dean's brother's way of expressing his approval without Dean threatening him with physical violence for initiating a 'chick flick moment'. "Thought we'd come and bring some lunch."

"What happened to not being a proper little housewife?" Dean teases Mary as she kneels down and opens a picnic basket. Castiel is disappointed when Dean climbs off him, though this is quickly quashed when he is pulled into a tight embrace on the checkered blanket that Sam lays down, and he chuckles when Mary playfully swats Dean around the head.

"I'll have you know that this proper little housewife nearly broke the arm of the last person to call her that," she says. Sam's eyebrows fly up, while Dean grins widely.

"I'm curious about the story behind that," Castiel says as he helps her unpack the food. Mary smirks at him.

"Dean was only two," she says, handing out sandwiches. "John and I took him to a birthday party for one of his friends and we were talking to the other adults while the children played outside. One of the men there thought it very funny that I'd 'been taught self-defence since I was a kid' and decided to make a remark about how I was 'nothing more than a pretty little housewife' and that I should 'get back in the kitchen like a woman's supposed to'."

Sam's covering his mouth to hide his laughter but Dean isn't having any such trouble; he's laughing loudly through his mouthful of sandwich. Castiel also finds Mary's story extremely entertaining, mostly because of the fact that anybody had even dared to think that Mary Winchester née Campbell is anything less than a force to be reckoned with. Even Castiel would hesitate to cross her, despite the fact that she had retired from hunting for ten years and then been dead for thirty – although he thinks this is largely due to the fact that she's Dean's mother, and he won't intentionally hurt any more of Dean's family if he can help it.

"What'd he do?" Sam says, his voice muffled by his hands. Mary shrugs nonchalantly.

"He apologised. What else could he do? None of the other wives there were very impressed with him either – not even his own."

The rest of the afternoon is spent telling amusing stories to each other as they consume their feast – with Mary finding Castiel's first meeting with Dean highly amusing and asking if 'he'd been showing off for Dean'.

"I did no such thing," Castiel says haughtily. "I was merely showing him who he was dealing with, as a warning not to cross me. It was not for his benefit."

But he shoots Dean a quick smile while Sam and Mary are laughing to let him know that this is a lie. In fact, Mary has it right; he _had_ been showing off just a little but, considering that he had battled through Hell for thirty years for this man and then spent the next ten rescuing him, he thinks he was quite justified.

"Showoff," Dean hisses to him, though the swift kiss he presses to Castiel's lips removes any venom from his barb. When Mary simply smiles widely at Castiel and ruffles his hair like she has taken to doing with Sam and Dean, Castiel feels his heart begin to swell. If even Dean's mother has accepted him and thinks him worthy of his son…maybe this really is his family.

Maybe this really is where he belongs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.**

 **So…this happened. I hate putting my Cas baby through pain but it's necessary for him to get the love he needs, which he doesn't get in the show – hence my whole reason for writing most of the stuff I write. Also, I wanted Cas/Mary bonding because apparently we're going to get that in S12.**

 **I think the end is non-graphic enough to maintain a T rating but I could be wrong. I wasn't even going to put it in at first, until I realised that Dean is a very physical person and maybe a physical shock would be good for Castiel – especially with the numb state he's in here.**

 **Trigger warning for graphic self-harm.**

 **Thanks to Minilin, AngelisticSatan, Skyla Andrews and barjy02 for your reviews :)**

Castiel hadn't been naïve enough to think that everything would magically be fixed by Dean's words to him several days ago – but, sitting outside and looking at the stars again, he's surprised at how little the empty nothingness inside him has faded. Deep down, he knows that mere words from one person would not repair him, but he can't help but feel that this is a personal failure on his part; Dean has showered him with so much attention – so much love – over the past few days, and yet he can't even stop being a pathetic, depressed, broken being.

It's for this reason that he's outside now, his knees tucked to his chest, rolling his angel blade idly in his hands. Dean may have made Castiel promise to come to him at the first sign of any self-destructive or suicidal feelings but the hunter is currently engaged in a very serious marathon of Star Wars with his mother and brother, and who is Castiel to interrupt Dean's family time? He's not going to shatter Dean's joyful mood over his own issues that he can't even get over.

He's an _angel_. Why is he letting himself feel this way?

But being an angel seems to not count for much these days. Angels had once been revered beings, invincible warriors of God – and now thousands are dead and any common person or creature can kill one with the right weapon. How the mighty have fallen – Castiel most of all.

Though this numbness is a welcome change from the overwhelming guilt and crippling sadness that constantly pervades Castiel, he can't help but miss the pain. It may have been breaking him, to constantly have to deal with the burden of everything he's done, but somehow it seems worse to not feel anything at all. At least pain is _something_.

As if in answer to this last thought, a sharp pain sears through Castiel's hand and he curses and drops his blade. While idly toying with his blade, it had slipped and sliced his palm open and now beads of deep red blood drip onto the dark grass underneath him, illuminated by the wisps of brilliant grace that seep from the wound into the crisp night air. It's the sight of this grace that pains Castiel most of all because he's done so much wrong, committed so many sins – and yet his grace is still as bright and beautiful as ever. It's as though he's being mocked for all of his wrongdoings by remaining as undeservingly radiant as he's always been, a stark contrast to all of the blood that he has accumulated on his hands.

Suddenly, he can't take it anymore. The nasty voices in his head – he's weak, a failure, gullible, unwanted, worthless, broken, why would anybody want him – they just won't shut up and if Castiel hadn't dug his fingers into the gash on his palm to send fresh waves of pain coursing through his arm, he's certain he would have buried his blade right in the middle of his chest just to shut them up.

Pain banishes emptiness. That's the thought that permeates through Castiel's head as the overwhelming urge to end it all begins to fade. He doesn't know exactly why he's having these suicidal thoughts, when what he'd told Dean about wanting to live was true, but they're suddenly terrifying. He now sees what people mean when they say that your worst enemy is yourself. How is he supposed to defend himself against his own _mind_?

Slowly, almost delicately, he picks up his angel blade again and then rolls up his sleeves before he lets the point rest on his forearm. He's not sure just why he's doing this but a sort of detached calm has settled on him as he prepares to do this; a stark contrast to the way his heart is racing in anticipation. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't. He wants to live. But he also wants to feel alive; not have to deal with this constant hole inside him. If pain will help him cope, then so be it. Dean never said anything about not hurting himself in this way. And if anything, maybe he can finally begin to pay for all of the crimes he's committed.

Before he knows it, his blade flashes in the moonlight and a thin red line appears on his arm as if by magic. Then, as blood and grace begin to ooze out, the pain hits and Castiel closes his eyes and clenches his fists against the burning pain emanating from the slash. The pain is both too much and not enough; he wishes that it would go away but at the same time, it's almost exhilarating. He feels _something_. He feels _alive_.

He's not sure of just how many times he would have hurt himself if a voice hadn't quietly said, "Cas?" from behind him. He drops his blade as if it had burned him.

"M-Mary," he stammers, trying to calm his pounding heart. He has full control over his vessel; why can't he slow down his heart rate?

To her credit, Mary doesn't immediately react with horror and scream at the sight of Castiel's mangled arms, blood gleaming in the moonlight. Instead, she just sits down next to Cas and carefully, gently, takes one of his arms in her hands.

"Easily cleaned," she says in an almost professional tone, as though she's dealt with this her whole life – which, Castiel supposes, she kind of has, having had to deal with injuries on a regular basis as a hunter. "I don't think you'll need stitches because they're pretty shallow. You should heal from an angel blade, right?"

Castiel just stares at her, his mouth slightly open.

"I – y-yes," he finally croaks. Mary smiles.

"Good. Don't move."

She stands up and heads back to the bunker, taking Castiel's angel blade with her. While irritated that she doesn't trust him enough to be around sharp objects, Castiel fully understands her viewpoint and he honestly agrees with her. He's a danger; both to himself and others around him.

When Mary returns, it's with a first aid kit and, his blade nowhere in sight. She kneels down in front of Castiel and very carefully positions his arms outstretched on his knees, his glistening forearms facing up.

"This is going to hurt," she warns, opening a bottle of antiseptic. Castiel grits his teeth and nods but it still doesn't prepare him for the stabbing pain that shoots through him as Mary cleans his wounds and he can't help but let out a small whimper. Mary soothes him by softly singing what Cas recognises to be 'Hey Jude' but, rather than calming him, the song just makes him shake his head sharply.

"No," he says brokenly. "No. Don't. I'm not – I don't deserve that. That's _your_ song for _your_ sons."

Now applying dressings and bandages to his arms, Mary gives him a stern look.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're as much family as Sam and Dean," she says. Castiel goggles at her, unable to believe that the beautiful woman in front of him has just called him worthy of being part of her family, and it isn't until she's finished securing his bandages and pulls his sleeves down for him that he finally manages to find words.

"W-Why? I don't deserve that honour –"

"That's not true," Mary scolds.

"But Sam and Dean are your _sons_. I'm a broken fallen angel."

Mary sighs and shifts so that she's sitting cross-legged in front of him.

"You don't understand, Cas," she says, looking down and studying the shadowy grass almost intensely. "I've been dead for thirty three years. One minute, Dean was a happy four year old and Sam was a baby. And then I was torn from Heaven and my happy four year old boy was _gone_. You know, I didn't find a trace of my little boy in Dean when I looked into his eyes. Even when he's happy now…my little boy's gone. And Sam…I was only his mother for six months. I'm a _stranger_ to him."

Mary looks close to tears. Ignoring his stinging arms, Castiel draws the woman into a hug and brushes her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I was happy in Heaven," she confesses quietly, tears welling in her eyes. "And don't get me wrong, Cas. I'm so thankful that I've been given this chance to get to know my boys. But that's just it: they're _not_ my boys. They've grown up without me. I might have this second chance but I can't be their mother. The best I can be is their best friend."

She looks up and gives Castiel a weak smile.

"So as far as I'm concerned, you _are_ family. Both Sam and Dean have told me that you're their closest friend – and you're far more than that to Dean. You bring out glimpses of that happy little boy I remember. And for that, you're more than deserving of being their family – and mine."

Shame courses through Castiel when tears begin to roll down his cheeks uncontrollably.

"You – you don't know," he sniffles. "Everything I've done – all of the atrocities I've committed – Mary, you don't know – you would not be so quick to welcome me –"

"Then tell me," Mary says simply. And so Castiel pours his heart out to her, telling her everything – from the moment he pulled Dean out of Hell to the current day. He doesn't spare any detail, no matter how mad Sam and Dean might be at him for certain things he tells her that they would not want her to know, and he almost wishes that Mary would yell at him rather than just hum a tune as she cups his face and softly wipes his tears away with her thumbs once he's finished.

"Why wouldn't I accept you?" she says. "Sam and Dean told me some of what they've done and I might not approve, but they're my family. I love them no matter what. Not to mention that if given another choice, they wouldn't have done most of what they did. What makes you any different?"

"I'm an angel," Castiel says thickly. "They're humans. They were manipulated into much of what they did. I chose my actions of my own free will. I should be held to higher standards because I'm a celestial warrior of God!"

"You said yourself that only God is perfect. So I'd say you're being pretty damn hard on yourself. You did what you thought was best, even if it wasn't the best idea. Everything you did, you did for us. For my boys. For _Dean_. You know what I think?"

Castiel mutely shakes his head. Mary smiles and leans in to press a kiss to his forehead.

"You're so used to looking out for everybody else and doing what everybody else wants – the angels, Crowley, Naomi, Metatron, even Sam and Dean. You need to do something for yourself, Castiel. What do _you_ want?"

What does he want? Certainly far more than he deserves, though he can tell by the look on Mary's face that this will not be an acceptable answer.

"I…want a family," he whispers. "A home. A purpose. Following everybody else's wishes allowed me to have a purpose – to feel needed and wanted. I want to be useful. I want people to want me for _me_ – not for my grace or my malleability. Sam and Dean are the closest I have to this but…"

He hesitates, not wanting to say anything less than glowing praise about Mary's sons, but the woman motions for him to continue.

"Even they are guilty of treating me as…as a tool," he reluctantly confesses. "I didn't want to say anything because they took me in when Heaven threw me out, offered their support when my family turned on me…"

It's a mark of just how messed up Castiel currently is that he doesn't notice that somebody else has come across them until the person grabs him from behind and pulls him into a crushing embrace.

"I got this, Mom," Dean murmurs, running his fingers through Castiel's hair. With his blurred vision, Castiel vaguely makes out Mary nodding before she leans in to kiss him on the head and then sets off back to the bunker. Castiel is dreading the moment that Dean will speak to him – he doesn't want to hear the utter shame and disappointment in Dean's voice at just how weak he is – and so when Dean just starts to gently rock him back and forth while still stroking his hair, Castiel almost can't take it. He can't help wishing that Dean would just lecture him already, get it over and done with, so that he can send Castiel away as quickly as he can rather than prolonging Castiel's dread and pain.

"You don't know how freaking terrified I was," Dean finally says, his voice muffled by Castiel's hair. "Mom goes to see if you're out here and then comes running back in with a bloody blade and grabs the first aid kit. I – Cas, I thought you'd –"

"I'm sorry," Castiel says with a soft sob. "I didn't want to kill myself, Dean. I really didn't. That's why I – why I – I had to feel _something_ –"

Slowly, carefully, Dean takes one of Castiel's arms and rolls his trench coat, suit jacket and dress shirt sleeves up to reveal the white bandage that Mary had skilfully wrapped around the limb. Castiel's stomach plummets at the look in Dean's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Castiel repeats, looking down so that he doesn't have to meet Dean's eyes. He's crying again but he can't bring himself to care. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Shh." Dean kisses his hair. "Don't, Cas. Don't be sorry. Just promise me you'll come and _talk_ to me next time."

"You were enjoying yourself with Sam and Mary. I didn't –"

"I don't give a shit. You're – Cas, I dunno what the hell you are to me but you're just as _important_ as them. You need me, you _tell_ me."

Castiel's whole body is wracked with sobs that he's trying to calm, to no avail. Dean just holds him through it, murmuring soothing things into his ear and pressing kisses all over the top of his head until Castiel is finally calm enough to attempt to speak again.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to cause you such distress –"

Dean silences him by turning the angel around in his arms and giving him a quick kiss.

"I stayed in that bunker to give Mom time to help you," he says, "because I knew you wouldn't want me to see you like that. But I couldn't take it. I got out here about halfway through you telling Mom about all the shit you've done. Hey, don't apologise," he quickly adds when Castiel begins to babble apologies for telling Mary things that he knows Dean had wanted to remain in confidence. "If you'd just decided to tell her for no reason, I'd've been pissed. But…you needed to. You had to talk to someone who wasn't me or Sam. It hurts but…I get it. "

He plants another kiss on Castiel's lips.

"Why d'you think I talk to you about shit I don't even talk to Sam about? It's not 'cause I don't trust him – he's my _brother_. Just…I can't talk to him about a lot of this shit. And you…you don't judge me. Kinda nice for a change…"

Castiel wants to say something but silence has fallen on them and he doesn't want to shatter this illusion of peace.

"I'm sorry." Dean is the one to break the silence. "I heard you telling Mom about how me and Sam treated you. You – Cas, you deserve way better. Why didn't you tell us?"

Castiel shrugs almost apathetically as the dreaded numbness – the whole reason he even got himself into this situation – begins to creep back in.

"It was necessary. You required my assistance, so I gave it to you. And it's not as though I was unused to being a tool."

"But we're _family_! Family doesn't do that! You got as much right to be happy as us!"

Before Castiel can say anything, Dean is attacking his mouth with a rough kiss. A surprised moan escapes him but he's quick to reciprocate, wrapping his arms around Dean and ignoring the burn along his arms from allowing them to rub on Dean's body.

"It's gonna get better," Dean swears quietly when they separate. "I'm gonna make sure of it. You're stayin' with me and Sam and Mom and we're gonna have movie marathons, and eat a bunch of junk food, and do all that cheesy, best friend shit that normal people do. _This_ is your home, Cas. _We're_ your family. That's what you want, right?"

Castiel has to bury his face in Dean's shirt before he starts crying again. As it is, his eyes sting with the effort of holding back his tears.

"Yes," he whispers. "Yes. I – I'd like that very much, Dean."

Dean's response is to hug him tighter and kiss his hair.

"Cas? I…I love you."

Castiel freezes, his eyes flying wide open. He can't remember the last time somebody has said that to him. In fact…has _anybody_ said that to him? He doesn't realise that he said that last bit out loud until Dean swears quietly.

"You're fucking kidding me. No wonder you're going through this shit!"

"Dean, it's no big –"

"It's a massive fucking deal! I just – how can anyone _not_ love you? You're amazing, Cas! You're so damn smart – seriously, half the time I don't even know how to talk to you because I'm nowhere near as smart as you, so we end up talking about shit I want. And you're so adorable, especially when you do that squint and head tilt thing when you're confused."

Castiel is trembling again, shaking his head in weak denial. But Dean's words keep coming.

"You're _beautiful_ – and I meant it when I said I wasn't just talkin' about your body. Seriously, whenever you show off your wings or go all 'smitey blue eyes', it's so freaking hard not to just jump you. You got the biggest freaking heart and you're _always_ tryin' to do the right thing and help others, even if you get fucked over."

"No," Castiel denies quietly. Dean's arms tighten around him.

" _Yes_. You better freaking believe what I'm telling you, Cas. I've hurt you too many damn times – called you broken, yelled at you, beat you up… _I'm_ the one who doesn't deserve _you_. I just dunno how you can't see how awesome you are."

"That's rather hypocritical when you consider how you see yourself," Castiel mumbles. Dean snorts.

"Point. Look, Cas…you know I'm shit with words. Can I show you?"

Castiel stiffens in alarm.

"Dean, I – I'm not ready for that –"

"Hey, hey. Not _that_ far. Just touching. I swear I'll keep hugging you. I just…I wanna make you feel good, Cas. You deserve it. Especially after – after Lucifer. Maybe…I dunno…maybe this'll help you with your body. I know it's gotta be weird, bein' back in control after months."

Castiel shrugs. He's growing very fond of this action, simply for the fact that it can convey so much without words.

"Okay, Dean. If that's what you want."

"No, Cas." Dean tilts Castiel's head up. "If that's what _you_ want. You gotta be totally on board."

Castiel gives another shrug.

"I don't see how it could be any worse than anything I've experienced lately. If you say it will make me feel good, I trust you."

Dean hesitates for a moment before reaching down and slowly unbuttoning Castiel's pants.

"You want me to stop at any time, _tell me_ ," he says. Castiel doesn't miss how 'tell me' is emphasised.

"Okay."

When Dean first touches him, he immediately goes rigid as jolts of pleasure shoot from this point of contact.

"Cas?" Dean takes his hand away, which irritates Castiel.

"Touch me again."

Dean's taking everything slow, only serving to annoy Castiel as he slowly loses control over his body. But it's a good kind of loss – one that he thinks he can easily become addicted to if Dean is the one taking this control away from him. He hadn't lied when he'd told Mary that he likes having a purpose, following somebody else. Lucifer controlling his body like a puppet had been downright terrifying but this – Dean having the power over him – it's intoxicating and he never wants it to end.

"You okay?" Dean says as Castiel's whole body quivers uncontrollably. Castiel can barely think through the haze of endorphins that are clouding his mind and surging through his body and all he can focus on is Dean's hand on him and the strong shoulders that Castiel is digging his fingers into as hard as he can. He's _feeling_ something – actually feeling something other than numb and empty, and it's amazing!

"Y-Yes –" the angel chokes. Dean grins and kisses him.

"Love you, sweetheart," the hunter murmurs before kissing him again. These words seem to be a sort of trigger, because Castiel has to bury his face in the crook of Dean's neck to muffle his cry and cling to Dean for dear life as an overwhelming jumble of emotions and sensations race through him. That's it – he's hooked on Dean and his touch, and Castiel knows that he simply has to have Dean for the rest of his life or else his existence will be a very bleak one. It all recedes way too quickly, though Castiel enjoys the warm, content feeling that's left behind as he practically melts into Dean's arms.

"I love you too, Dean," he says quietly. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me."

"Hey, you don't need to thank me." Dean begins to card his fingers through Castiel's hair again. "Just promise me you'll _talk_ to me if you ever feel like that – or if you ever want to talk about anything. Don't worry if I'm busy with somethin', okay?"

Castiel nods.

"Okay."


End file.
